We’ve been eating a lot of popcorn lately. The inside of our sofa tells me so. I came across these recipes for popcorn which I’ll likely never try. But you might. My neighbours were raving about nutritional yeast and aleppo pepper yesterday, while I was like, “what’s that?” I’ll let them make it. And hope we’re invited over for movie night.
Last week, a lady in my pottery class brought in some vintage cream lace to compress into clay. I made a plate and covered it in large anemones from one of her crocheted pieces and then dipped it in a turquoise glaze. Now I am wishing I had painted it white. There’s something so demure, feminine and romantic about white lace. A long lace dress, light and ethereal, is on my wish list for summer.
Now that I’m doing a pottery class, I have greater appreciation for the bowls and cups and plates around me. Even simple, crude looking cups are no cinch to make. It’s just as challenging to make something that’s deliberately crude and imperfect as it is to create a perfect form with smooth, even lines. But that’s the kind of ceramic work I like; rough rims, scuffed surfaces, liberal glazes and shapes that aren’t quite perfect.
Every time I see a photo of designer Christina Karras’ 1920s Spanish-style bungalow, I want to dive into my screen and land under a tasseled blanket on the terrace of her Santa Monica retreat. The whole house is bursting with boho charm and Hollywood romance. I love the salmon pink of her bathroom, and that rattan dining set is pure Palm Beach retro. I don’t want to live here, but I’d be a very happy house guest.
Have you ever ridden an ostrich? Ostriches can reach speeds of over 43- mph and their long legs can cover up to 16-feet in a single stride. I adore this picture of Wenda Rogerson –– Norman Parkinson’s wife of thirty-years –– but I love the story that’s attached to it even more. It was taken by Parkinson on a shoot in Africa just before the ostrich bolted with the actress/model on its back. As the ostrich charged past him, he bellowed out, “more profile Wenda, darling! More profile.”
We watched an animated (wordless) film today with the children –– The Boy and the World –– that was a visual feast with echoes of Klee, Miro and Braque. It tells the story of a little boy whose father leaves the family’s rural home to find work in the city. Determined to bring his family back together, Cuca embarks on a journey in search of his father. The music –– pan flutes, samba and Brazilian hip hop –– is as rich and beautiful as the visuals. It was a toss up between this and Kung Fu Panda, and I’m glad we chose the film we did. I’ve promised Po for another day.
I discovered Karen Mabon through the National Portrait Gallery’s instagram page –– the gallery carries Mabon’s silk scarves in its shop. The Scottish illustrator’s fanciful world of pink poodles, flying trapeze artists, penguins, dalmations and bonbons is a sheer delight. Look out for me this Spring –– I’ll be the lady with fried eggs on my head.
I bought two new swimming caps today –– one’s a pink turban and the other is a 50s inspired coral cap with a neck strap. Between these and my frilly caps in turquoise, yellow and every-colour-of-the-rainbow, I’ve got quite the collection. Occasionally, I’ll catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I move swiftly from changing room to pool, and I’ll chuckle at how very weird and wonderful I look. Iole’s goggles, the blue ones with rhinestones, add that extra splash of weird. I’d retired the whole lot for a while, but it’s winter now, and I hate to get my hair wet. Plus, one needs a sense of humour to survive the grey.
Women modeling bathing caps with faces on them.
I read a piece in the New York Times yesterday about how to raise a creative child. There were no major revelations, but it was a gentle reminder to ease up on rules, encourage hobbies that the child has genuine curiosity in and seek out coaches and teachers who make learning (from ping pong to pythagoras) fun. ‘”“The theory of relativity occurred to me by intuition, and music is the driving force behind this intuition,” Albert Einstein reflected. His mother enrolled him in violin lessons starting at age 5, but he wasn’t intrigued. His love of music only blossomed as a teenager, after he stopped taking lessons and stumbled upon Mozart’s sonatas. “Love is a better teacher than a sense of duty,” he said.
I wrote an essay for Mamalode about the wonderful community of women who buoyed me through my third pregnancy.
“…We talked about politics and hairdos and where to buy good challah bread. I heard stories about their children’s births, about their careers, travels, struggling with illness. And unlike the young mothers groups that discuss pregnancy symptoms, birthing plans and breastfeeding ad nauseam, these women rarely asked me anything about my pregnancy and upcoming birth. To them, you carried a baby and gave birth to a baby. God willing, all went well.”
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